


Blowing Out My Mind

by mightierthanthecanon



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Older Zayn, Oral Sex, Shotgunning, high blowjobs, ziall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:38:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightierthanthecanon/pseuds/mightierthanthecanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your voice sounds like honey. Your eyes look like honey. Your lips taste like honey. You’re made of honey, practically. You’re basically Winnie the Pooh. Or would that make me Winnie the Pooh?" Niall chewed at his lip, lost in thought.</p>
<p>"Why? ‘Cause you want to eat me?" Zayn teased, but the smile on his face was genuine. "Hey, Niall?"</p>
<p>"Yeah?"</p>
<p>"Congratulations, old man. I think you might be high."</p>
<p>——-</p>
<p>Summary: Still in the closet at 25, Niall’s anxious on the eve of his brother’s wedding and can’t sleep. Luckily, he runs into an 18-year-old bartender who knows exactly how to help him relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blowing Out My Mind

The last rays of sunlight flickered red on the eve of the big day, and Niall was compulsively kicking a soccer ball around his hotel room, cursing his eagerness in depleting the minibar with his brother that afternoon. He himself wasn’t getting married (thank goodness), but Greg was, and being in town for the wedding, even as just the brother, had all of Niall’s nerves hypersensitive and trembling. Since his arrival that morning, he had been pestered with an endless list of questions from well-meaning relatives—”So, where’s the lucky lady?” they queried. “When am I going to see you on that altar?” “What happened to that cute redhead from university that you used to date?” Real answers ( _honest answers)_ to those questions had always managed to elude him, and, now that he was 25, there were plenty of people asking.

Niall sighed, shoving his feet into sneakers, and headed for the elevator. There wasn’t any point in moping around an empty room—not sober, at least.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have the things people talked about— a relationship, a marriage, a kid—he absolutely did. _A family? Kids?_ Niall couldn’t wait for that stuff. He just wanted them…with a guy. And he hadn’t quite worked up the courage to tell all his friends and family that tiny little detail. Niall knew in his head that there was no reason to be afraid. His family loved him, always had, and they were always open and accepting about whatever he came home to them with, which, over the years, had turned out to be quite a lot. _Just say it_ , he would say to himself, _just say it right now_ , but it never worked, and he usually ended up forcing laughter and trying desperately to change the subject.

So, here he was, sneaking into the (hopefully empty) reception hall to nick a bottle or two of alcohol, if there was any left. There was a hot young bartender who Niall had seen taking sips of vodka through a crack in the kitchen door (not that he was staring or anything—some faces were just impossible not to notice), so there was a pretty big possibility that the bar was bare for the moment. Niall crept down the stairs, having long since changed out of too-tight Armani suit #1 into a pair of jeans and a pink t-shirt. He could almost hear a disapproving aunt or granduncle grumbling about “sissy pink shirts and the men who wear them,” but Niall shrugged it off, reminding himself that he had never actually heard anyone in his family say anything like that out loud. Only in his head.

More to the point, it was almost 10pm and they were most likely all in their beds watching I Love Lucy reruns, even Greg and Denise. _Especially Greg and Denise._ Neither of them were really into the bachelor/bachelorette thing, so they were both probably getting a good night’s sleep as well. _Or texting each other from adjoining rooms_ , Niall thought, smiling, then revised his opinion. That’s almost definitely what they were doing.

Pushing the heavy wooden doors open, Niall expected to find the reception hall empty, but he was disappointed. Servers were cleaning up after the rehearsal dinner, taking out dishes, and wrapping up tablecloths —making everything clean and new for the day of the wedding. The room was busy, and everything was still on—the air conditioner buzzed, and the chandeliers sparkled from the ceiling, draping everything and everyone in golden, shimmering light. In the midst of all the hustle and bustle, a slight, dark-haired young man leaned against the bar, casually emptying glasses of ice, and replacing bottles of liquor like he had all the time in the world. It was the boy from earlier, Niall noticed, cursing under his breath. Any (totally innocent) enjoyment he would have gotten out of seeing him again was overshadowed by the giant hole blown in his master plan. How the fuck was Niall going to swipe a bottle of Jack (or two) from the bar when the actual bartender was there to see him?

Sighing, Niall started looking around for a plan B, when he noticed the quiet strains of a song—something he didn’t recognize but liked straight off—and he observed the hall below him to see who was in charge of the music. _There’s always someone who appoints themselves OFFICIAL DJ in the presence of a sound system_ _,_ thought Niall _._ At the engagement party a few months earlier, it had been him. Much to his surprise, Niall didn’t see anyone standing protectively over an iPod shuffle. He didn’t even see an open computer, or a boom box. All of a sudden, his search was interrupted by someone standing directly in front of him.

"Uh…hey?" the person ventured quietly, and Niall took a step back, startled. It was the bartender. He was even more gorgeous up close than Niall would have guessed. Heavy lashes, perfect golden skin, spidery tattoos trailing up and down his arms—it took Niall a second to realize he was staring. At a teenager.

"Uh…what’s the craic?" Niall responded, snapping himself out of it. He couldn’t help laughing at the absurdity of the situation—being approached by the person from whom he was attempting to steal.

"You’re Niall, right?" the brunette asked, coming around him (right up next to him) to lean against the banister. "The brother?" In the slash of bare skin between the hem of his thin tank top and the waistband of his tight tight black jeans, Niall could just see the lines of yet another tattoo making its way across his hipbone. His eyes widened as the bartender raised his hands in the air and stretched, showing off even more of his torso and the curve of his slim hips. The hint of a nervous tremor in the boy’s voice aside, if Niall didn’t know any better, he’d think he was…flirting. _Oh_.

"Yeah, m’the brother," he said, grinning despite himself, then put a hand out. "Niall Horan, best man."

The teenager tilted his head, considering Niall’s hand for a moment, then shook it, a smile spreading slowly across his face like ripples over clear water. “Zayn Malik, bar back. Or bartender.” He looked up at Niall. “Depending on how hung over my boss is.” After a second or so, he turned away, hanging his head shyly, but Niall noted that Zayn still hadn’t let his hand go.

_Not the bartender, then._ The thought of the bar, more than anything else, reminded Niall where he was—how exposed he was. He dropped Zayn’s hand immediately, glancing at the exits to see if one of his family members was staring at him, taking notes from behind a window or cursing his soul from the afterlife or something. No lurking relatives were looking at him, but Zayn certainly was—big brown eyes squinted as though he were trying to work something out. As though he were trying to work Niall out.

"Hey, what happened to that song?" Niall asked immediately. Zayn was turning out to be surprisingly perceptive, and Niall would have said anything to get the boy’s laser-focus off of his undoubtedly too-expressive face and onto something (anything) else but as soon as the words left his lips, he was happy to have asked. The music had been… nice, while it lasted. Niall liked for his life to have a soundtrack, whenever possible, and that song—chill and lazy and sexy—was exactly how he wanted to feel that night. How he wanted to feel forever, if possible.

Zayn ducked his head nervously, drawing his plump bottom lip into his mouth and biting down. “That was just…me,” he said quietly, and Niall’s jaw dropped.

"THAT WAS YOU?" In his excitement, Niall practically shouted it, and Zayn looked around, aware of the people around them. Niall wasn’t very often shocked, but it looked like today was one of those days. "Seriously, just tell me ye do that for a living. Yer voice is…" He held his hands out and laughed, unable to find a non-sexual way to properly convey his astonishment. _Irresistible_ , he wanted to say. _Sexy. Perfect. Just like you._

As Niall struggled for words, Zayn stared silently at his shoes. Non-regulation black leather boots twice the size of his feet, like a boy in his father’s shoes. Niall found himself irrationally endeared. He could also see a smile threatening to break through the look of humility on Zayn’s face. He was enjoying being praised, loath as he was to accept it, and Niall was enjoying praising him.

Zayn shrugged, rolling his bare shoulders nervously. “I’m not that great,” he mumbled.

"Um…sorry to burst yer bubble, but ye definitely are," Niall said, grinning. "Ye should be singing at—" He broke off. The wedding. The wedding was still tomorrow. He still had to speak. He still had to talk. He still had to answer questions. Niall felt the nervous laughter bubble up inside of his chest and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.  

Zayn looked at him, concerned. “You all right?” he asked.

So, he hadn’t played it off quite as well as he’d thought. “Fantastic!” Niall lied brightly. He stepped away from Zayn (and his outstretched hands and his warm eyes and his honest concern) and stepped toward the fully stocked bar. “Hey, since you’re…not the bartender, do you think yer boss would notice if one of these bottles…disappeared?”

The wedding was in 11 hours which meant the reception was in 12 hours which meant Niall still had 14 more hours of questions about his lack of a girlfriend—if he met 5 people per hour, that made around 70 questions about his personal life he was going to have to avoid, or sidestep, or answer with a joke. Or even a lie. Niall didn’t know that many lies. Niall was terrible at lying.

Zayn cocked his head to the side, as if he heard the numbers echoing anxiously through Niall’s mind. “Probably not,” he replied. Zayn scrunched up his eyebrows in an expression of fake concern. “But don’t you think you should stay sober, Mister Best Man?”

Niall barked out a laugh. “Just Horan, please” he said. His brain was doing its best to drive him crazy with painful possibilities and anxious imaginings, but Zayn was  _real._ Niall smiled in spite of himself at the teenager flirting so outrageously with him.

Zayn nodded. “Of course, Mr. Horan, sir,” he murmured, and then Niall’s breath stopped.

He had made a point to stay in control of the conversation up till now (or at least he had tried), but, looking at Zayn’s bowed head and those warm brown eyes staring up at him under eyelashes as black as night and just as long, Niall felt more than a little out of his depth. This was Zayn’s show now.

The corner of Zayn’s mouth pulled up in a smirk, like he knew it. “Are you…sure you just want to, like, grab a bottle?” The way his mouth dragged around the word “sure” dispelled any doubts Niall might have had. The boy was flirting. And he was doing a damned good job of it.

Niall took a step closer. “Why? Have any suggestions, lad?”

Zayn chuckled, deep in his throat, and Niall inhaled sharply to stop himself from chasing the obvious opening. It backfired. Whether it was his shampoo, cologne that must have cost half his salary or just him (and this was the most likely, that he just woke up smelling like warmth and sweetness and sex), the boy smelled divine, and Niall felt the urge to kiss Zayn hit him like a physical blow. Catching his breath, he rushed to clarify.

“Instead of just grabbing the nearest bottle of vodka, I mean.” he said.

Zayn put two fingers to his lips, looking around conspiratorially. “Yes,” he whispered, then nodded towards the outdoor pool, which was closed for the night.

Niall opened his mouth to say as much, but Zayn interrupted him before he got a chance. “I’ve got keys,” he smirked.

_Of course. This fucking teenager._

Zayn started towards the employee’s exit, and then turned around, holding a hand out to Niall. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

A smile broke out across Niall’s face, and he answered without thought. “Yeah, I do.”

——-

Twenty minutes later, they were slipping through the fences around the spacious outdoor pool and grabbing towels from the “cabana” in the back. Zayn walked to the far end of the pool to strip down to his briefs, stepping into the light shining from an outdoor lamp. In the dimness of evening, the light shined brightly against his skin, making tattoos stand out like curls of calligraphy swirling across his muscles. Niall took a deep breath, steeling himself. He was not about to take advantage a 17-year-old boy. He wasn’t. But why was he out here in the first place? He leaned against a lamp post, watching as Zayn slid into the water.

_There’s no harm in looking_ , he told himself. _Especially when he’s practically begging me to stare._

Even in the dark, Niall could see the smirk playing around his lips. It was obscene, really, how attractive he looked, shining wet in the pool, hair loose and curling around his ears. Niall noticed after a moment that he hadn't strayed far from the shallow end, and smiled. Despite the convincing show he was putting on, Zayn was just a boy—a cheeky one—but a boy nonetheless, uncomfortable with compliments and afraid of the water.

“Coming?” Zayn asked, licking his lips. He was staring directly between Niall’s legs.

Niall had never seen anything more obvious in his life. He started laughing, and couldn’t stop.

“Ye really don’t have any shame do you?” he asked, through gasps.

“Nah,” Zayn responded flippantly, shaking his head so that the water sprayed from his hair in a glittery mist. “Pass me my pants?”

Shaking his head at Zayn’s boldness ( _the arrogance of youth_ _…or whatever_ , Niall thinks) Niall dutifully walked to the other side of the pool and got Zayn’s pants. They were still warm. When he came back, the boy was sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs in the water.

"Thanks," Zayn said, drying his hands on a towel, then pulled a thin white cylinder and a lighter out of his pants pocket.

“Is that a cigarette?” Niall asked hopefully. He knew better.

Zayn just looked at him. “Nope,” he said, smiling mischievously.

Niall watched transfixed as he lit the joint and brought it to his pursed pink lips, taking a long drag as his eyelids fluttered shut.

“It’s not exactly what I had in mind meself…” Niall muttered. _I’m going to get arrested. Christ._ Zayn was _so_ young. At least, Niall thought he was. He was afraid to ask.

Zayn’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t respond, letting the smoke fill his lungs. Zayn also apparently had a talent for holding his breath. Niall tried not to think about what else he could keep in his mouth for that long.

When Zayn finally exhaled, he ran a hand through his hair and shrugged at Niall’s expression, like holding smoke in his lungs for the better part of a minute was totally normal. “Lung capacity,” he said, as if that meant anything to Niall.

The sun was completely gone now, and stars dotted the velvet sky like diamonds. Most of the wedding party was sleeping, resting up for the big day tomorrow. Niall looked around just in case, but didn’t find any. He wasn’t sure what he feared more—that someone would see him, that someone would see him with Zayn or that someone would see him smoking. Either way, they were alone now, weren’t they? Niall looked at Zayn, who was sitting content with his eyes closed, and grinned. _Why not?_ he thought, and started taking off his shirt.

“No way,” said Zayn, astonished, “Really?” His eyes were wide open and shining. The seductive man-eater had disappeared with the daylight, and the boy left behind was bright eyed with awe.

"Yeah, really," Niall said, pulling off his socks. Clad only in his jeans, he ran over to the deep end of the pool and jumped.

"Whoo!" Zayn shouted at the splash, pumping his fist into the air like he was at a concert.

Niall was barely aware of anything outside the sweet, comforting coolness of the water, but he could hear the naked glee in Zayn’s voice and laughed out loud. _I’m okay,_ he thought, at ease for the first time since arriving at the hotel. The cool water, the chirping crickets, and Zayn, wet as a mermaid and just as beautiful, looking appreciatively at him from the edge of the pool…Niall could do this. As himself. Niall splashed Zayn as he swam up to the edge and pulled himself up.

“Thought I wasn’t good for it?” he asked. Niall rubbed his bad knee absently, trying not to be self-conscious.

“Never that,” Zayn said with a smile, eyes traveling leisurely down Niall’s body, “Never that.” He took another hit of the joint. Even scratchy from the smoke, Zayn’s voice was warm and inviting, and Niall found himself forgetting his near-nakedness and wondering about that song he’d caught snatches of earlier.

“So, yer secretly a pop star or something, right?” he asked, running a hand through his wet hair.

Zayn just giggled. Laughter escaped from his mouth in little puffs of white smoke. “Nah,” he said, smiling.

“But that voice! Ye sure ye haven’t won, like, X-Factor or American Idol or something like that?” _Or a modeling competition_ , he added silently. Zayn’s smile literally lit up his face, and Niall couldn’t stop staring at him.

“Nah. I’d never win one of those things. Don’t have the voice for it,” he said, face falling for a moment before he smiled again. Niall wondered for a moment how difficult it would be to find whichever teacher or tutor or cruel classmate had obviously said that to Zayn. And how hard it would be to ruin them.

"M’goin’ to uni in the fall and I’m gonna to study music, but, like, I’m a bartender, you know? Or I will be," Zayn continued, leaning back and swinging his legs in the water, “I _know_ music. People are music. Like, we’re all made up of breath and sound and notes, so when we breathe, it’s a crescendo, and when we live—really live— it’s a song, and our music goes out into the air and the air around us is all music and the sky is a symphony, and the stars…” he trailed off, looking at Niall. “You’re music,” he finished quietly.

Niall’s brows knit together in confusion. “I’m music?” he asked dubiously, trying not to laugh. _Stoner philosophy 101._ He shook his head.

“’Course you are,” Zayn said absently, looking at the sky. He leaned heavy against Niall’s shoulder, content. “You just have to, like, let your heart sing.”

_Of all the corny, childish one-liners…_

But Zayn’s body was warm against his, damp skin sliding wetly against his own. Niall’s heart was beating fast and he felt like he was about to get off a roller coaster, or had just gotten on one. Either way, it was too late to stop it. Niall glanced at Zayn, wary. All of a sudden, Zayn was lifting the joint to take another puff.

“Hey!” he complained, “I thought you were going t’get _me_ high?”

Zayn grinned, pleased. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he murmured. He was turning to face Niall, and their legs were brushing together under the surface of the water. Niall attempted to distract himself from the feel of Zayn’s smooth skin by reaching out for the joint.

“What?” he asked. 

Zayn wrapped his fingers in Niall’s hair and he froze with his hand in the air, inches away from Zayn’s own.

“Asking for what you want” Zayn said, then took a long pull, and kissed him.

Niall couldn’t have said he was startled, per se, but he was so enthralled by the feel of Zayn’s mouth on his that he forgot to breathe for a split second. Then, he realized that was the point. Watching his lips, Zayn blew a stream of warm smoke into Niall’s mouth, slow and easy. Niall just breathed it in, letting it fill first his mouth, then his lungs, and then his body, with tingling warmth. He knew then that Zayn wanted to sleep with him out there, by the pool, and Niall knew just as well that he wasn’t going to be able to do that—not to him. He was a teenager, for chrissake. Niall opened his mouth to speak and Zayn covered his mouth with his hand.

"Not yet. Hold it," Zayn said, and his fingers traced the seam of Niall’s lips while the blonde struggled to hold his breath. A smile spread across his face and then turned into laughter as Zayn watched Niall breathe out, coughing as the smoke escaped his lungs.

Niall took in great lungfuls of air, chuckling at himself when the teenager had to pat his back. “Is it always like that?” he asked.

"No," said Zayn, grinning dirtily. "Only the first time." He laughed at the double entendre—leaned back his head and just…laughed. Like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like all he wanted at the moment was that joint and Niall’s company.

Whether it was his voice or the pure joy behind it, Niall found himself listening to Zayn’s laugh like it was poetry, like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

"You hear it?" Zayn asked after a moment, studying him through heavy-lidded eyes. "You hear the music?"

_Yeah,_ Niall thought, _yeah I think I can_. He nudged Zayn’s shoulder.

“Zayn,” he said.

Zayn grinned, smug. “ I knew you’d like it.”

Niall just looked at him, easy and sincere and open, like he was terrified of being with 95% of the people in his life. “I like you,” he said simply.

The smile on Zayn’s face stuttered for a second, then came back even brighter than before, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth and nose crinkling like the joy was almost too much for him. He glanced at the joint between his fingers, obviously waiting for Niall to reach out for it, like he had the last time, but Niall didn’t move, watching patiently. Waiting patiently.

“Let’s do this,” Zayn said, pleased. He turned to Niall again, and held his chin between his fingers, angling Niall’s face so their lips were perfectly aligned. Zayn lifted the joint to his lips, staring at Niall all the while. He inhaled, licking his lips, then inched forward.

Expecting a kiss, Niall was overwhelmed by the soft hand on his face, the stream of smoke in his mouth. His breath hitched on the inhale, and Zayn stroked his cheek, looking Niall in the eyes as he tried again and held it. 

"Good," he said softly. His lips brushed Niall’s with equal gentleness.

Between the smoke in his lungs and Zayn’s mouth on his own, it was too much for Niall. The teenager’s face was so open, the want and vulnerability there shining put as clear as day. Eventually he had to turn away. Niall looked down into the pool, and found himself swaying as the water rushed up at him.

“Whoa,” he said, reaching out for Zayn like he was on a rocking ship. “I feel like…” he gestured with his hands in a figure 8, trying to convey the unsteadiness he was feeling. Whether it was due to the weed, the night, or his closeness to Zayn, he couldn’t tell, but the combination was possibly driving him insane. “Feel like I’m falling,” he said finally.

"You are," Zayn said dreamily. "Me too. We’re all always falling. Otherwise we’d be floating…up there. You know?"

_How high could one person be?_ Niall grabbed Zayn’s thigh, trying desperately to avoid seeing the pool. “No, Zayn. I feel like I’m going to fall in. FALL IN. I know I’m not…” He glanced around. “I can see that I’m not, but Zayn, I still feel like—”

Finally, Zayn saw the look on Niall’s face and burst out laughing. “Shit, I’m sorry, mate,” he said, and his voice was sincerely apologetic, despite the giggles. He drew his legs out of the water, pulling Niall up. “Let’s go, old man.”

Niall held onto his hand like it was a life preserver, but let go as soon as he was walking steadily (well, as steadily as possible). “I can walk by myself,” he said, grinning at Zayn’s attentiveness. “I’m not that old.”

“Are you sure?” Zayn asked. He waved his hand in the air, attempting to point towards Niall’s knee. “Your…leg?”

“M’only 25,” Niall protested, falling heavily into the pool chair. “Not 52.”

Zayn laughed, stretching himself along Niall’s chair instead of getting his own.

_Of course._

“You’re both, you know,” he said, running his fingers through Niall’s hair, “Both, and neither. 25, 52. Young, old. Straight, gay. Blond, brunette. You’re everything. Like the stars. Everything and nothing at the same time.”

Niall looked up to the sky, and then tried to count the stars. He wondered if the ISS could see them from up there.

“But mostly you’re just Irish,” Zayn added, and started giggling again. “An Irish star.”

Niall just laughed. He wondered how long it had been since he’d felt so happy, so…content with everything. Months? Years? It didn’t matter. All of a sudden, Zayn was crooning something.

“Just like a star across my sky, just like an angel off the page.”

Niall turned on his side, to listen closer. Zayn sang with his eyes closed, eyelashes black against his skin. Lit by starlight, his hair still glistened with water from the pool.

“You have appeared to my life; feel like I’ll never be the same.”

_Fuck me, that sounds good_ , thought Niall. He found himself bringing a hand up and stroking Zayn’s face, for no particular reason. “Feels good,” he said, inexplicably. Zayn turned up to look at him, eyes wide. Vulnerable. “You’re so beautiful, Zayn,” Niall breathed, the words spilling out of him.

Zayn blushed and tried to turn his face away, willing to use his beauty but not willing to be praised for it, but Niall forced his chin forward so that he had no choice but to face Niall directly.

"You are," Niall affirmed, determined to make him listen, to  _make him understand_. “Your cheekbones and your lips and your eyes—your fucking eyes are so warm. They’re like honey,” he mused. “Your voice sounds like honey. Your eyes look like honey. Your lips taste like honey. You’re made of honey, practically. You’re basically Winnie the Pooh. Or would that make me Winnie the Pooh?” Niall chewed at his lip, lost in thought.

"Why? ‘Cause you want to eat me?" Zayn teased, but the smile on his face was genuine. "Hey, Niall?"

"Yeah?"

"Congratulations, old man. I think you might be high."

"Fuck," laughed Niall, stretching in the lawn chair, "Maybe. Feels good though, right?" And it did. It felt really good.

“Mhmm,” murmured Zayn, turning towards the pool. They were pressed into each other now, spooning on the small chair. Zayn’s back rested against Niall’s chest and his ass pressed into Niall’s crotch, their legs tangled together on the bright white slats.

Had he been sober, Niall might have regretted their lack of clothing, but in his present state, all he noticed was how small Zayn’s body was in comparison to his own—and how good he felt pressed up against it. 

“Uh…Zayn?” asked Niall, almost breathless. He glanced over his hipbone to find the teenager’s hand traveling unconsciously towards his crotch. Almost before he realized what he was doing, his hand went to grab it before anything happened that he couldn’t take back. Now both their hands rested on his bare thigh, inches away from his briefs.

Zayn hummed as he widened his legs slightly, just enough to get Niall’s hand to shift upwards.

“Zayn!” Niall yelled it in his head, but it took a while to get out, and by the time his mouth opened, it sounded like more of a sigh than anything else.

“Oh,” said Zayn, not making a move. “Sorry.”

Niall slapped a hand over his face, trying not to laugh out loud. That was possibly the most insincere apology he’d ever heard, and he said as much to Zayn, who chuckled along with him, moving his hips in lazy figure 8’s between Niall’s legs.

“D’ya want to stop me?” Zayn asked cheekily, but paused. If Niall were to say something he’d stop.

_Zayn_ , Niall thought as loudly as he could _, I shouldn’t_. But with skilled hips undulating between his legs, and the intoxicating scent of what he had decided was Zayn’s shampoo filling his nostrils, he couldn’t form a single word of protest. Niall was silent. He watched, hypnotized, as Zayn’s hand slid up his leg and down into his briefs, taking Niall’s hand along with it. When he felt Zayn’s dick twitch against his fingers, Niall couldn’t help himself.

"Guess not," Zayn quipped unsteadily, as the older man’s hand wrapped around his dripping cock.

Niall’s hand moved slowly between Zayn’s legs, stroking him with a sweetness he had a feeling the teenager rarely allowed himself. The waistband of the briefs limited his hand movement, but Niall felt liberated by the restriction. He reveled in the way his entire world had narrowed to the lithe body of one young man and the inside of his small black briefs. What his world had lost in breadth, however, it had gained in depth, and Niall could hear a thousand different notes in the sighs on Zayn’s lips, feel a million little variations in the firm flesh sliding underneath his fingers. 

"Wow," he marveled.

"Yeah," breathed Zayn, and leaned his head back to rest on Niall’s shoulder. "Wow."

Any thoughts he may have had about being noble and doing the right thing were gone, and Niall was touching Zayn without preamble now, stroking with purpose. He couldn’t help himself and, to be honest, he didn’t want to. Touching Zayn felt as natural as breathing, as easy as floating, and at the moment, Niall felt like he was doing just that—soaring out of space and time, suspended, like a star, somewhere where nothing and no one existed but he and Zayn.

"Fuck, Niall," Zayn whimpered, and he was writhing on the chair now, grinding back against Niall’s hardening cock and bucking up into his hand. "Please."

Niall cursed loudly at the desperation in his voice, pulling the teenager still closer to him and redoubling his speed. Nothing had ever felt so good and he didn’t understand it, but he was too far gone to care. Niall licked his lips and latched onto Zayn’s neck because it was there and it was beautiful and he wanted to taste it.

_Honey,_ thought Niall, sucking hard against Zayn’s skin, _he tastes like honey_. And Zayn shuddered, coming with a soft cry and undulating against Niall’s dick as he rode out his orgasm on the plastic lawn chair.

Blinking in the sudden silence, it occurred to Niall that he might have been higher than he realized. Before he realized it, Zayn was dropping to his knees before him like a man on a mission—like he wanted to prove something to Niall, or to himself. He sat there, patient, with his hands behind his back, and waited for Niall to come to. When he did, Zayn looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes like the personification of sex.

"It’s…it’s all right, yeah?" he asked hesitantly. As if Niall could say anything but yes.

It seemed to him like it took a lifetime to get each button undone, but eventually he managed to open up his wet jeans, fingers trembling, and slide them down his legs. As though he had just slipped off his skin, Niall shivered, his nerves now exposed to the open air. Everything was tingling—the thick drag of the the denim felt like heaven and the warm puff of Zayn’s breath on his skin felt so good he wanted to cry. Zayn kissed between his legs, little pecks between his knees and thighs that had Niall moaning and twisting in his chair. Desperate for something, Niall’s fingers reached out and brushed hesitantly at the damp strands of Zayn’s hair, trying not to pull. The teenager arched into the touch, and then grinned up at Niall and bent down, licking wetly up the underside of his cock. It felt like a bolt of lightning, like a lick of fire, like the freezing burn of dry ice. Niall nearly jumped into the air.

"Jesus Christ, Zayn" breathed Niall, shaking as Zayn pressed his mouth to the head of his cock. Closing his eyes against the pleasure, Niall felt the earth quake in his bones, heard the skies thunder in his ears. "What the fuck—" 

Zayn laughed. “It’s partly the weed,” he said, lips moving wetly against Niall’s cock, then grinned, cocksure like only an 18 year old could be. “But it’s mostly me.”

He took Niall into his mouth and Niall tightened his grip on Zayn’s hair. Zayn was everything. All he could see were Zayn’s eyes, staring intently up at him. All he could hear was the sound of Zayn’s voice humming around him. All he could feel was Zayn’s mouth, warm and wet around his dick. Niall closed his eyes, losing himself in the feeling. It was like every nerve ending was connected to his dick and Niall felt the echoes of Zayn’s tongue _and his lips and his teeth in_ every part of his body, like Zayn was kissing him everywhere.

"You like it?" Zayn asked suddenly.

Niall blinked down at him, startled by the loss of sensation. “What?” he choked.

Zayn grasped his cock with his hand and squeezed. “Do you like it?” he asked again, teasing Niall with light, gentle strokes like the fluttering of butterflies’ wings.

Niall breathed out hard, the night air a thousand times cooler after the warmth of Zayn’s mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, I like it,” he said, struggling to speak evenly as Zayn’s rings tapped out a lazy rhythm against his shaft and the cool air teased the head of his dick.

"It’s so big," Zayn gasped, widening his eyes between Niall’s legs, then bowed his head shyly, "and it’s only my first time."

Niall could see the smile playing at the corner of Zayn’s lips, and knew it for a lie, but the brunette was just young and innocent enough for the pretense to half work. Zayn was all big brown eyes and lean young body, and when he swiped a thumb across his pink lips, through the mess of pre-come and saliva smeared across his face, Niall felt…dirty somehow, like he was spoiling a child, stealing his innocence. If there was any blood left in his brain he’d be ashamed of exactly how much of it rushed to his cock at the sight. Niall’s fingers tightened again in Zayn’s hair and he jerked him forward, not at all gently.

"Would ye just fecking—"

Zayn deep throated Niall’s cock in one smooth movement, like that was what he had been waiting for, swallowing so Niall could feel his throat contracting around his dick.

"Fuck!" Niall shouted and all of a sudden he was seconds away from coming. He could feel himself getting close, could feel the blood rushing in his ears and hear the obscenely wet sucking sounds from between his legs and taste the blood from where he had bitten almost completely through his lips. His hips started to buck and Zayn grabbed his hips, steadying them so he didn’t choke. Niall breath caught in his throat at that—the realization that he was fucking Zayn’s face so hard the teenager could barely take it  _but was still trying to_ —and he felt himself go over the edge.

"I’m gonna…"Niall attempted, but he couldn’t quite get the words out. Zayn said something in response, but Niall didn’t hear it, couldn’t see it. There were fireworks bursting behind his eyes and symphonies building—in his mind, in his body, in his soul—until they reached a crescendo and he came, gripping Zayn’s hair tightly and spilling into his open mouth.

After a moment, Niall realized he was still alive and sat back in the chair. “Fucking shit, man. Can’t believe ye just did that,” he said, laughing with amazement like he was the 18-year-old and it was his first time.

Zayn sat back on his heels. “I’m pretty sure that was mostly you,” he said, wiping his mouth lewdly with his hand and licking his fingers.

Niall opened his mouth to protest, then turned his face to the side, shaking with laughter born equally of astonishment and embarrassment as he blushed red from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears.

"Zayn," he started. He was still sitting between Niall’s legs, looking up at him with a fond, tired look that was completely at odds with the absolutely filthy blowjob he’s just given. It had to be almost midnight now, and between the rehearsal dinner, the smoking, and the earth-shattering orgasms, Zayn was almost completely wiped out, eyelids heavy and full lips stretched around a yawn. Niall smiled. Busy, flirty, sleepy—he liked every side of this boy.

Niall wasn’t fully awake himself. Tired from the hour and still floating from the strong weed and the mind-blowing blowjob, he wanted nothing more than to cuddle on the pool chair with Zayn until they both woke up. But he couldn’t. His dad woke up early, and there were at least two aunts on his mothers’ side that he knew took morning constitutionals and would be passing the pool by sunrise. He put both feet down shakily, waiting for the ground to stabilize before nudging the blissed-out angel at his feet.

“Come on,” he said, taking Zayn by the arm. “Come get dressed.”

Zayn looked up at him and just nodded, pliant and acquiescent now, and got slowly to his feet. Niall went over to get their clothes, which lay forgotten on the edge of the pool, and then helped Zayn shimmy into his jeans and tank top before pulling his own pants up and heading for the exit. Niall looked back at the pool. It wasn’t quite a mess, but it was clear someone had been using it. He turned to Zayn.

"Should we…?" He trailed off.

Zayn shook his head. “Nahh,” he said. “We weren’t here. We were…” he put a hand out, gesturing towards the sky, then looked at Niall, searching his eyes as if willing him to get it.

Niall grinned in spite of himself and pulled Zayn closer to him. “Yeah,” he said. _We were up there._

_——-_

After only a little bit of a struggle, Niall and Zayn found themselves at the door to Niall’s room. Shaking himself awake, Zayn looked with mild surprise at the hotel room door, and the key in Niall’s hand.

"Round 2? I didn’t—" he yawned, "I didn’t think you had it in you, old man," Zayn joked, but didn’t pull away.

A question about how many unfamiliar doors Zayn’s woken up in front of occurred to Niall, but he forced it away, unlocking the room and tickling Zayn gently around the waist. “Maybe later,” he said, smiling fondly, “Now, get yer arse in the shower. Twat.”

Zayn put his hands up in an exaggerated show of defensiveness and walked in. He turned around slowly, taking in the huge bed, the big windows.

"Wow," he breathed, staring at the view.

"Wow," Niall agreed, gazing at him. Maybe Zayn would disappear after the shower, maybe he’d remember he was a brilliant, talented, beautiful teenager who had his life ahead of him, and they’d never see each other again, but for now, he was here, and all Niall wanted to do was kiss him.

Crossing the room in two strides, he turned Zayn to him and pressed their lips together, walking them backwards so that Zayn was pressed against the window. Zayn kissed him back hungrily, holding his chin with one hand and urging his body forward with the other, as if he wanted to to take Niall’s entire body into his mouth. Niall realized with a start that it made no difference that they were in front of a window. He could not have cared less who was watching.

This time, it was Niall who knelt, running his fingers along Zayn’s body as the teenager gasped for air against the window. He undressed Zayn slowly, first pulling off the shirt, then the pants, and then the still-sticky briefs. When the brunette stood naked and perfect before him, Niall stood and kissed him once more, slowly this time, like they had all the time in the world, like they were the only people in the world who mattered. Zayn melted into him like honey, sighing into his mouth as they kissed.

"Come on," Niall whispered, brushing his lips across Zayn’s, "Shower." He pulled him into the bathroom and shrugged quickly out of his own clothes before turning on the shower and stepping inside. He had only planned on a quick rinse, but once he got Zayn in the shower, Niall didn’t want to leave, rubbing soap onto Zayn’s body like he wanted to tattoo his fingerprints on every inch of skin.

"M’tired, Niall," Zayn whined, leaning against him in the expansive glass shower. He was speaking practically into Niall’s neck, and Niall smiled fondly as he soaped Zayn’s body from head to toe.

"Okay princess," he joked, but the smile died on his lips when he felt Zayn’s body quiver in his arms, and heard the small "oh" escape his lips. "Okay?" he repeated, and Zayn inhaled shakily.

"Yeah." He looked up, reaching for Niall so he could kiss him again, then stood under the spray.

Starting at the base of Zayn’s neck, Niall took the washcloth and rinsed away the lather, watching golden skin and splashes of black ink appear underneath the rainbow white of the suds. Between the sweet smell of the soap, the warmth of the water and the softness of Zayn’s skin under his fingers, Niall almost felt high, but he knew better. He was sober now, and grounded—the only thing keeping him tethered to Zayn now was fact that neither of them wanted to let go.

"Come on, old man," teased Zayn through a yawn, waking Niall from his reverie, and Niall picked up two towels from the rack before wrapping Zayn up and drying them both off.

He led Zayn to the bedroom in relative silence. Niall didn’t want to pressure Zayn, and had no desire to force him into anything, especially because he had the feeling Zayn had been in this situation far too many times before, but all he could think of was Zayn spending the night with him. _Just to sleep,_ he thought, _cuddling and breakfast are both totally optional._

“So…where ye staying?” Niall asked, sitting on the bed as casually as he could.

“South…” Zayn waved his hands sleepily, the light from the bedside lamps glinting off his rings. “The train…” He paused, halfway under the covers, then righted himself on the bed and looked at the ground, silent.

Niall knew there was no train this late—Zayn missed out on that when he decided to get high with Niall in the pool. Watching Zayn refuse to meet his eyes, Niall felt pretty sure that the stubborn teenager would rather sit out on the bench waiting for a train not to come than ask Niall to stay the night for something other than sex. He sighed. _Zayn_. He wanted to give Zayn the world. He wanted to give Zayn everything.

"Why don’t ye just stay here?" suggested Niall, as lightly as possible, and slid naked into the bed so that Zayn didn’t have to respond. Zayn snuggled in next to him immediately, discarding the towel and pulling up the thin sheet. Niall turned to the side, in a reproducing of their spooning position from earlier, and pulled Zayn close to him, Zayn’s back against his chest, Zayn’s legs tangled with his own. Niall considered staying this way forever, and found he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

"Thanks," Zayn mumbled suddenly, pressing a kiss into Niall’s arm, "For the shower." It wasn’t really what he was grateful for, but Niall knew that.

He just smiled, squeezing Zayn affectionately in his arms. “Thanks for getting me high,” he replied, and it wasn’t really what he was grateful for either, but Zayn knew that too. It had only been a few hours, but they _knew_ each other. Niall shook his head. If Zayn chose to stay, Niall wasn’t ever going to let the boy go.

Half asleep, Zayn gestured to the open window, where the stars still twinkled above them, but fell asleep before he could say anything, naked, and wrapped up in Niall under the covers.

Curled tightly around his body, Niall focused on the sound of  Zayn’s quiet breathing, and fell asleep listening to the even rhythm of it—in and out, in and out.

Almost like music.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and concrit are, as usual, much appreciated.


End file.
